Remembering The Old Songs:

HARVEY LOGAN (LAWS E21)

by Lyle Lofgren

(Originally published: Inside Bluegrass, July 2004)

Outlaw ballads are a staple of traditional American song, but we
haven't covered very many of them. Perhaps that's because I, for
one, have avoided Jesse James. Maybe someday we'll write about his
ballad, but in the meantime we'll look at a song about a Jesse
admirer.

Internet research is wonderful. I found out that Harvey Logan was
definitely born in Rowan County, Kentucky in 1865 and 1875; in
Tama County, Iowa in 1867; and in Missouri at an unknown date.
Everyone agrees he was raised in Missouri, where, according to one
source, he met Jesse James (d. 1882), who gave him some dime
novels which he read in order to learn how to be a badman. He and
his brother went west to wrangle cows and also rustle some of
them. After working his way north from New Mexico to Montana,
Harvey got in trouble when he killed a sheriff in a gunfight. On
the run, he hooked up with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in
Wyoming, where he took the nom de proscrit of Kid Curry.
He developed a reputation as a quick draw and a cold-blooded
killer.

After several exciting bank and train robberies, murders and
jailbreaks, he took his share of the loot to Knoxville TN, and
became "railroad man" William Wilson. He planned to marry, settle
down, and farm until the money was all gone. Instead, on the night
of December 13,1901 he went to Ike Jones's pool hall and drank
apricot brandy (nice specific touches, after all the vagueness
about his birth). He played pool with a local named Luther Brady
and got mad when Brady's game greatly improved after a big bet. He
started to strangle Brady. Brady's partner tried to interfere, so
Harvey shot him. The police came, and one of them broke his billy
club over Logan's head. Harvey shot two policemen and escaped, but
was arrested two days later. Evidently, none of these people
died--the brandy must have spoiled his aim. Pinkerton detectives
ID'd him as Harvey Logan. When word spread about a real western
outlaw, thousands of people showed up at the Knoxville jail to get
a glimpse of him. The sheriff allowed some to walk by his cell so
they could touch his hand. The court, ignoring his popularity,
convicted him for a Montana train robbery and sentenced him to 20
years.

While awaiting transfer to a penitentiary, he broke jail, perhaps
with some help, and took the sheriff's horse. He either settled
down peacefully in Waxhaw NC or went to Colorado, took the name
Tap Duncan, and robbed a train. Cornered by a posse on June 9,
1904 (or 1903), he killed himself rather than surrender.

No—that couldn't be. According to Logan's "grandson," a genuine
Tap Duncan died in Colorado. Logan escaped to Argentina and
started a cattle ranch, married a señorita and had eight
children, succumbing to old age in 1941. I can believe that. One
of the few newspapers my father saved was an article from the
1930s that said the real Jesse James was still alive, an old man
living a quiet life. There was a photograph to prove it. Robert
Ford had really shot someone else.

This version was sung by Jimmy Morris of Hazard KY in 1937,
recorded by Alan & Elizabeth Lomax and is now in the Library
of Congress (1548A2). My guess is that it was composed shortly
after the jailbreak to take local advantage of Logan's fame. A
complete ballad of his exploits would be very long. What's
described here is barely a footnote to the life of one of the
frontier's baddest badmen.

7. He rode across the bridge, and he rode down through the
gate,
He said, "I'd better be making time, the night is growing late,"
Oh my babe, my honey babe.

8. He rode across the bridge, and he looked up at the sky,
He said, "I'd better be making time, the night is drawing nigh,"
Oh my babe, my honey babe.

9. He rode through the lane, and he rode down through the
gate,
He said, "Goodbye, old Tennessee, I'm heading for another
state,"
Oh my babe, my honey babe.

Note added 10/15/2012: Mark T. Smokov has published an
exhaustive (98 pages of references!) study of the life and times
of Harvey Logan, titled He Rode With Butch And Sundance: The
Story of Harvey "Kid Curry" Logan (University of North Texas
Press, 2012). Since I doubt anyone else will ever undertake such a
complete study, I'll tell you his conclusions: Logan was born in
1867 in Richland Township, Tama County, Iowa (he got this from
census records), and the family moved to Gentry County, Missouri,
a short time after 1872. He spent most of his youth in Montana,
specializing in train robberies. So did a lot of cowboys at the
time, and the story should have been filmed by Cecil B. DeMille:
it seems to contain a cast of thousands (including a lot of
prostitutes), although most of the characters seem to exist
because of a proliferation of false names and confused
eyewitnesses. Because of his fame, he was often suspected of
committing two robberies at the same time at far-flung locations.
Smokov makes the convincing argument that Logan, cornered, killed
himself on June 9, 1904, and is buried in Glenwood Springs,
Colorado, and that the South American stories are false. After
reading his book, I don't have the energy to argue, so I'll accept
his version.